


The Difference a Year Makes

by squarephoenix



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Newly established relationship, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old, made up werewolf lore injected into canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squarephoenix/pseuds/squarephoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short stories showing Derek and Stiles in the first year of their relationship and the year after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bed hair and Basketball (Five Weeks and 3 Days)

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own. Constructive criticism welcomed.  
> The chapter name is how long they have been dating.  
> Not sure which season this fits into, it's pretty vague but like after season 1 I guess.  
> I'm pretty sure Stiles' dad refers to him regularly as 'son' but for the fic he calls him 'kid'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long night spent researching, Derek and Stiles wake up in wrapped in each other's arms to find Stiles' dad staring down at the pair demanding they come down to the breakfast table.

“Dude, you’re gonna have to come down eventually. Might as well rip the band-aid off and get it over with as soon as possible.” Stiles stood against his bedroom door smiling at the Derek-shaped lump underneath his bed sheets that didn’t seem to be making any indication at moving. “Come on, Mister Big Bad Wolf. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my dad. A couple of weeks ago you shrugged off razor sharp teeth on the side of your stomach from a crazed omega. I think sitting at the table with my old man won’t kill you.”

“Shut up, Stiles. He has bullets mixed with wolfsbane poison. He actually can kill me.” Derek countered.

“He won’t.” Stiles repeated with a whining tone, tired of having to convince the supposed adult to join him downstairs. He walked over to Derek who pulled the sheets over his head as Stiles came close to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles had to actively steel himself against the breathtaking sight of Derek laying in his bed with mussed up bed hair. Instead, focusing on the worried expression on the werewolf’s face. “Derek, I know it’s rocky right now but it will get better. We just have to give him some time and take it step by step.”

“’We?’ It’s me that he hates.” Derek argued.

“No, it’s we,” Stiles stressed. “We’re in this together. Sorry to say but you’re stuck with me for the long haul, big guy.” He smiles and places a hand over what he assumes is Derek’s chest, since most of his body was still wrapped in linen, in a comforting gesture. Then Stiles stands up as he waits for Derek to do the same.

Derek closes his eyes and exhales loudly as readies himself for breakfast with the sheriff and his son. Going over in his head on what he should say and how he should act. “Nope. Not doing it.”

“Oh my God!” He says in a normal volume, not wanting to alert his father, as he throws his arms up in the air. “Aren’t I supposed to be the younger, immature one in this relationship?”

“We’ll take turns being immature. Right now it’s my turn.” Derek pulls the covers back over his head, back pedaling the little progress he made coming out of his shell.

“Derek!” He hissed. “You have to meet Deaton before he opens this morning. So, whether you want to or not you need to come down stairs. And don’t even think about jumping out the window. He’s already seen you and you’ll just make things worse for yourself…and me.” As he exited the room, Stiles added, “you giant five year old with stubble.”

“I had to fall for a son of a sheriff.” Derek groans to himself.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Stiles joins his dad at the kitchen table after he leaves Derek alone in his bedroom, dressed in his pajamas. “The age, and serial killer face, and leather, and the tattoo.” The sheriff starts and Stiles wonders how his dad knows about the tattoo but then remembered how the sheriff was there when Derek was attacked by the omega that left him in shredded clothing. “The only thing missing is a motorcycle to complete the image of the boyfriend every parent dreads their kid winding up with. Although, that Camaro is cutting it kind of close.” Stiles’ dad twists his face in pain.

“Okay. Dad, three things. Stop making your oatmeal meal face. Not a kid, I’m eighteen. And Derek is a great guy with a great face.” Stiles listed.

“Who stayed over at my house when I was busy working the night shift.”

“I said sorry before, Dad. It was late and we were just making sure there was no connection to the constant storms drenching Beacon Hills with the warnings Derek received from a pack two towns over about an escaped Rusalka.”

“Ru…” His father tries to pronounce.

“Rusalka,” he corrects, “they’re these creatures…”

John sighs wearily and interrupts. “Is…that thing,” still unsure of how to say the name, “here in Beacon Hills?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t need to know what it is.” John takes a sip of his coffee and then adds. “I think I almost miss when you were lying about all of this supernatural stuff.”

Stiles knows his dad doesn’t mean it. The words ‘the truth will set you free’ were very accurate in their case. As soon as the sheriff was in on the secret life that Stiles was leading behind his back, the tension and stress in their relationship soon resolved itself. Stiles felt better than he had in a while to have his dad back in his life without the secrets.

“I’ll let it slide it slide this time since it was pouring buckets into the morning. But next time, because I know they’ll be a next time, at least leave a message that we have company.”

Derek decided to alert the two Stilinski men of his incoming arrival by stepping heavier than his usual silent gait, something Stiles constantly berated him about. His presence was noticed as he came toward the kitchen wearing an undershirt and boxers with the Batman logo checkered across. The sheriff took a quick gander at Derek’s attire and centered a look of ‘why is he wearing your underwear and were you around when he put them on’ that Stiles pointedly ignored to greet the new presence standing awkwardly in the entryway.

“Morning, sunshine. Take my seat and I’ll grab you an English muffin.” Stiles used his hospitality as an excuse to seat Derek across from his father, the furthest he could place Derek at the small table unfortunately.

As Derek took the newly vacant spot, he greeted the man sitting in front of him. “Morning, Sheriff.  Sorry for the late night intrusion.”

“Good to see you well rested, Hale.” Derek was surprised to hear the steady heartbeat of John, indicating he meant what he said. “Don’t worry -- my kid here,” Stiles injected from his place at the toaster that he wasn’t a kid again while his dad continued. “explained the whole thing to me. Never did explain why the couch wasn’t good enough though.” John sipped his coffee giving the two, with their mouth’s flapping open and closed like a fish, a chance to come up with an excuse for their overnight cohabitation.

“He, uh, he is a guest, so I gave him the bed. Can’t have a guest on the couch, right? We’re not savages.” He explains as he plates the food and places it in front of Derek, standing beside him. “I know what you’re gonna say next. ‘Why didn’t you stay in my room, kid?’ Nailed my impression of you, by the way,” sending a fist through the air at his self-perceived achievement. “And I’m not a kid.” Taking a second to sit between the two important men in his life (Scott’s an overgrown puppy; he doesn’t count as a man). “To answer the question I asked me as you, well…I didn’t want to be in your way for a decent night’s sleep when you came back home after a long, hard day.”

He takes a second to inhale before diving back in, as Derek and John eat and drink, respectively, while watching the one-man/Stiles performance on display. “Didn’t know when you were coming back, so I didn’t want to be in your way. Remember the whole ‘leave a message’ conversation a while back? About 10 minutes ago. Didn’t get one on my end either, bucko. And the couch -- I see how your mind works, dad – is fine for a quick nap but the whole night? No way. I’d be cranky and irritable the whole day long. Just sniping viciously at innocent people. So, that is why we…uh, shared the bed.” Satisfaction plastered itself on Stiles’ face as leaned back in the chair.

“Hmm.” John hummed as he set down his now empty mug.

“’Hmm’, what?” Stiles repeated suspiciously.

“I’m just thinking if you know how mind works so well… then, why didn’t you think about grabbing a sleeping bag from the garage and camping out on the floor. As I recall, you and Scott seemed very satisfied with the comfort quality just a couple of years ago.” John leaned back in his chair, as Stiles slumped down in his, with a checkmate air about him.

Stiles was stunned silent as his father clearly bested him. Derek, much to both of the Stilinskis’ surprise, jumped in the conversation. “You went camping? Somehow I can’t imagine that.”

The motor mouth jumped at the chance to deflect from his father’s interrogation. “Well, it was technically in the backyard but it still counts. Scott and I were nervous about what creeping things lurked out in the woods. Turns out we were right. Also, Scott’s asthma was a big factor for him. And having to squat behind a tree and wipe with leaves was a big factor for me.”

“That’s a really great visual to have of my boyfriend.” Swept up in the easy nature of their banter, he almost missed that it was the first time he acknowledged out loud Stiles as his boyfriend. The soft look and warm smile on his lips Stiles’ eyes as he looked at Derek, told the werewolf that it wasn’t missed by him either. Derek was really seeing that Stiles meant being stuck with him for the long haul, if one accidental declaration could produce that much of a blissful expression.

Stiles told him that sentiment a number of times as they stumbled into this relationship together but Derek was told a lot of things and preferred actions over words. And that look…that was definitely an action that made him a true believer and caused to smile right back at his…boyfriend. It seemed to be just the two of them, Stiles and Derek, smiling at each other with a soft intensity, until John’s coffee mug blocked their eye gazing path.

“Kiddo, could you fill ‘er up for me,” jiggling the empty cup in front of Stiles’ face.

Stiles extracted himself from the table, muttering about being called a ‘kid’ in front stubble-ly hot dudes, and set a course to the pot of coffee at the kitchen counter. Once again leaving Derek without a buffer.

“So, Hale,” John started as Derek pushed around the crumbs left on his plate. “Are there any sexual diseases that are specific to werewolves that Stiles should know about?” Derek immediately raised his head to stare at the nondescript look plastered on the father of his boyfriend.

“Dad!” Stiles hissed as he made his way back with a full cup of coffee, he set down in front of John. He places his hands on his hips in irritation, “what kind of question is that to ask this early in the morning?”

“A perfectly reasonable one seeing as I found you in bed with him nearly an hour ago.”

“But I told you nothing happened! And nothing has happened yet!”

“See that? ‘Yet’, as in will happen in the future. And with the way you two were mooning over each other a minute ago, pun intended, I would say in the very near future.” He calmly stated the facts before him.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and sighed tiredly. “Time and place, Dad. You don’t just ambush people at the table in the wee hours of the morning! Speaking of the time, Derek you should go if you want to catch Deaton before he opens his clinic.”

Derek moves to leave the room but quickly pecks Stiles and says goodbye to the Stilinskis. “Your clothes are dried on the back of the couch.”

As he puts on his now dried clothing in the living room, he hears John say. “Deaton. Why didn’t I think of him first? I bet he knows all about werewolf-related STDs.”

“Don’t you dare, old man. I don’t want him knowing about my sex life…My nonexistent sex life.” Stiles stammers out.

“Yeah, I think I’ll head over there now with Hale. Hale! Wait up a sec!” he calls out to Derek who had his hand on the door, so close to freedom.

\----------------------------------------

            Which is how instead of relaying the confirmation of the info Stiles found out last night (Derek mostly slept through the whole night, the overwhelming scent of the Stiles soothed him to the point of no return), Derek is discussing how apparently, during full moons, ingesting werewolf…’fluids’  can have minor healing effects. And will only have negative effects if the subject has serious allergies to canines. Stiles is going to have a field day with that tidbit of knowledge to Derek’s dismay. Of course, with Derek’s luck, this would be the one time the usually cryptic vet is completely thorough and clear with the answers the sheriff sought after.

“Are any more parents in need of this talk? Melissa already came to me with these issues before. Perhaps I should start making pamphlets.” Deaton asks after filling the sheriff in, and by proxy Derek who waited for his chance to talk to the vet.

“Melissa,” John muttered. “Why didn’t think of her to ask about this stuff? 0 for 2, John,” chastising himself. “Deaton, not sure if you’re joking about that but with the way those teens seem to switch partners every other month I think some kind of…packet explaining this stuff might be needed. Hale, have you talked this stuff over with your…pack?” The term coming uneasily out of his mouth, not yet used to using a word like that to describe a group of teenagers.

Derek stared blankly at his boyfriend’s father and hated how much he was willing to do to stay on the man’s good side, which meant having to have a ‘sex ed’ talk with his pack. “I’ll—I’ll bring it up at the next meeting tomorrow.”

“Good, Hale. If you need…protection…to hand out, just ask Melissa.” With that said, John gave his farewells and left Derek wondering how he was going to explain the do’s and don’ts in werewolf foreplay. Light scratching and hickeys – okay. Super strength while wolfed out and rough sex – terrible combo. On the bright side, at least he knew had a magic dick. Stiles was most definitely going to a field day with that to Derek’s delight.


	2. Bed hair and Basketball p.2 (Next year)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next year...

“Can’t do it, John. Stiles will kill me if I do,” Derek states firmly.

“C’mon, Derek. It’s only one; it’s part of the experience.” The sheriff pleads to his son’s boyfriend. Derek looks away from the basketball game, arms crossed, to look directly at the man sitting beside him in the stadium to assess whether he should give in to his relentless begging. One way or another, the Stilinski men in his life got their way.

“Fine. ONE hot dog. But if Stiles finds out…”

“He won’t,” John promised.

“Like he didn’t find out about the nachos?” raising a brow as he reminded John of his last promise.

“Well, that was my fault I forgot about the cheese stain when I came home.”

“And then Stiles ‘forgot’ to talk to me for a week.” A perpetually silent Stiles was always a terrifying thing.

“It won’t happen again. I’ve got a change of shirt this time in the car.”

“Did you come planning to cheat on your diet?” Derek asked in disbelief.

“Stiles brought it on himself when he packed rice cakes for me as a snack. He gave no choice, Derek. Rice cakes,” he said in true puzzlement, wondering did he do something so wrong for his own son to treat him that harshly.

College basketball games had become a ritual the two unlikely friends shared, once bonded only by the overactive, headstrong young adult in their lives. Their basketball outings or weekend hangouts on the sheriff’s couch gave the two a reason to be in each other’s company while Stiles was away at college. Stiles and Scott had happily given away their season tickets, the constant pressure to show their school spirit was the main reason behind the purchase. The former lacrosse benchwarmers had their share of sitting back watching others play.

John and Derek joined the crowd and jumped out of their seat cheering (adding a fist punch upwards by a certain werewolf) when an unbelievable three-point shot made it through before the clock ran out. As they settled back down, John used the break to converse with his companion. “I noticed that my kid has left a permanent mark on you,” mimicking Derek’s earlier gesture to him and chuckling as Derek scratches his face in embarrassment. “It’s nice to see you in good spirits again, son.”

“Yeah, I’m still getting used to Stiles moving to college.” Derek used as an excuse for the poor mood he had this week, even though it had been a couple months since he left.

“Stiles does leave a giant silence in his departure,” smiling fondly as he agrees with the adjustment still needed with Stiles being gone.

In Stiles’ freshman year, he commuted home after his school screwed up his planned living arrangement to be shacked up with Scott. The three hour nearly daily commute was better than the unknown element of a new roommate for him. Now the two sophomores were living together and enjoying every second of it, feeling more like the brothers they always claimed to be.

“But is that all, son? Because I’m getting more of a nervous vibe than the simply missing Stiles.” John inquired.

Derek knew he was right. The video chats that Stiles had spent day and night teaching Derek how to use before he left helped greatly with his absence. And Stiles came home to Beacon Hills almost every other weekend with Scott. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to keep a secret from the town’s sheriff. Derek took the object burning a hole through his pocket and blew out an anxious breath, as John bit into his hot dog.

A shining, white gold band with a triskele design circling around the ring appeared between Derek’s index finger and thumb. “Think you’ll mind having another son in the family?” he asked in a lighthearted tone, using all of his energy to prevent any cracking or wavering in his voice.

John made an audible gulp as he swallowed his food before starting to laugh mildly. “Is that what you were all tense about? My blessing?” he asked with amusement in his eyes. “If me calling you ‘son’ didn’t clue you in, I’ll make it plain as day…nothing would make me happier than to have you officially in the family you’ve been a part of since you came down my stairs in Stiles’ boxers. And don’t think for a second I ever fell for that load about you just ‘sleeping’ over.” He clapped a hand around Derek’s neck as he continued. “I know my wife rests easier knowing someone like you is in my son’s life. And so do I.”

“John…” he uttered before clearing his throat and blinking back the wetness quickly building in his eyes. “Thank you,” was all he could get out as he gripped his thigh with one hand trying to gain composure from the sincere words of his soon to be father-in-law. The thought of the man he has always respected being his father-in-law reminded him of the next problem he had to address. “Now that I’ve taken of that,” he smiled in relief at how well that went, “I just need to figure out a good way to ask Stiles.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” John states confidently and eats the rest of the hot dog with gusto.

A vibration in his jeans breaks his look of wonderment at the speed of eating Stilinski men seem to have embedded in their DNA. Derek smirks as he reads the text that came from his phone. “Looks like I can check that off, too.” John turns to Derek, wiping the mustard off his chin with a napkin, looking for clarification.

The werewolf reads the text aloud to John. “That ring better be for me and not for my dad or I swear a double homicide-suicide is in the not so distant future. Which my dad might actually prefer because I’m making him a meatless lasagna for breaking the rules. Tell him to stick to enforcing the rules, instead of breaking them, sheriff.”

“How  did he—“ John’s question is answered before he finishes when Derek points upward to the picture on the large screen above the basketball court showing him holding a ring up to Stiles’ dad, while he has a hot dog midway to his mouth. “Hmm, guess you’d think I would know there is no such thing as a perfect crime.”

Another text comes in from Isaac. “Congrats! I get to be your best man, right?!”


	3. RVs and Runaway Brides (Day zero)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Mexico to visit Derek's sister on her birthday gives Derek a surprising gift of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oct. 11 -- It's been a long time but here I am. This has been sitting in a folder for frickin' years, man. I'm so ashamed.   
> Instead of being a series like before will just be a long fic that I'll add to...when I can. The timeline will jump around but hopefully it won't be a confusing read. The dates will be in the chapter title. Odd numbered chapters will be during Stiles and Derek's first year of dating. And even-numbered chapters will always be one year later after the proceeding chapter. (does that make sense??)   
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

After a two day drive, the entire pack had made it to Mexico to visit Cora for her birthday. When Derek had informed everyone of his plan to visit his sister, the werewolf hadn’t expected to have an entourage accompany him. Nor did he expect Jackson to lend his parent’s luxurious RV to get them all there. 

Derek wasn’t sure how he felt when the pack bombarded themselves into his getaway. He had to admit to swelling with pride that the group of teenagers he found himself risking his life for on a regular basis accepted him as more than a pair of fists - and claws - to help them fight the constant threats in Beacon Hills. The moment made him feel he belonged in a pack rather than stuck in a ragtag group of outcasts. But Derek was also terrified of being trapped in a confined space with a bunch of teenagers. Sure they were legally adults, but at times they were plagued with the same immature attitudes he remembered when he first met them. Derek did have to give them a pass though. Not many people, let alone teenagers, dealt with a fraction of the pain and loss they did. 

So, Derek allowed their forced upon invitation only because he knew they needed to blow off steam, having their lives in danger more than anyone should at that age or in one’s entire lifespan. And also because Cora would appreciate the chance to see them again. His sister kept in touch with most of them despite feeling that her place wasn't in Beacon Hills anymore.

Once the pack had finally arrived in Mexico after a day and a half, at the very least, Derek could say the road trip was interesting. 

Would he ever do it again? No. 

It was just too much. 

Too much singing with no one being particularly strong with vocal talent. The piercing, nail-scraping-on-chalkboard high notes had Derek seriously questioning whether driving off a cliff would be less painful. “Sensitive hearing, guys!”

Too many detours. There was no reason to take a picture of a sign with your name on it. And there was a sign for everyone's name. Multiple times too. “Isaac, you have one of a garage, a pet store, and a strip club. Do you really need a bookstore?”

Too many couples making out and heavy petting, with the strong scents lingering nearly causing Derek to gag. Derek didn't even care about the dog jokes Stiles might make seeing the werewolf driving with his head out the window. Stiles hadn't though, he was too busy escaping the ongoing orgy with his head out the window as well being the only person besides Derek who wasn’t ‘with’ someone. 

There had been some high points, they were actually amusing when they weren't annoying, but next time it would be a convoy of cars instead of a single caravan if they ever did another trip.

After their initial arrival, Cora’s only request for how to spend her birthday was an entire day spent at the beach. No objections were made from any of the pack. All were delighted to bask in the warm rays of the sun and soak in the beautiful ocean.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Derek pecked his sister goodbye before she and Isaac walked off to enjoy the high rising waves with their surfboards, embarrassing Cora greatly since she would only be a stone’s throw away. The older werewolf was feeling uncharacteristically affectionate seeing the sister he missed for years able to enjoy her birthday with close friends, happy and thriving. 

With Cora gone, the other teens decided to pair up and take off to enjoy the beautiful scenery. Lydia and Jackson went sailing on a boat he rented, Scott and Allison explored the ocean floor, Erica and Boyd were given a tour of the boardwalk by some of Cora’s pack members who had joined the field trip, and Danny and Ethan raced each other on jet skis. Which only left one other person… 

Stiles. 

Stiles, who was currently sitting in the sand by the combined packs’ designated beach spot lazily drawing in the sand. One of the drawings resembled Derek’s tattoo on his back which Derek decidedly ignored in favor of looking at the rest of the doodles. With Stiles keeping a record of all things supernatural they faced, Derek prayed the younger man wasn't creating runes that might unintentionally conjure something. Like a similar scenario where Derek's eyes cartoonishly widened after watching Stiles grow an instant beard hanging down to his chest. Stiles had his face buried in so many tomes that the younger man saw magic symbols anytime he closed his eyes. Luckily though, it looked like the drawings weren't anything to concern the werewolf with. 

In fact, there wasn't a need to concern themselves with anything, like being on watch duty for the others’ left behind belongings thanks to being on a private beach. Courtesy of Jackson, who really came through on this trip. Derek almost felt bad for being so adamant about killing the former Kanima. Almost.

Derek unfolded a lounge chair next to the beach towel occupied by Stiles, under an erected umbrella, and rested comfortably on his back - relaxing for the first time in what felt like several months. 

“Not going with any of them?” Derek absently asked Stiles with his eyes closed. He could tell how bored Stiles was sitting with nothing to occupy him.

“Nah, I don’t wanna feel like a third wheel with everyone coupled up.” A slight sour tone to Stiles' voice as he explained.

“What about jet skis with Danny and Ethan?” Derek suggested.

“With all the time I've spent being single, the last thing I need is all that vibration between my legs.” Stiles shared. Over shared.

“I’ve got an extra book if you want.” Derek offered, pointing on memory to the bag holding his items.

The werewolf could hear Stiles halting his scrawlings and, knowing Stiles, felt the younger man was judging Derek as if a seagull was nesting on top of his head. 

“Dude, we traveled for miles and miles to come to the beach and you plan on sitting the whole time… reading?” Stiles scoffed.

“Correction. We came to celebrate Cora's birthday.”

“Well, we’re here at a gorgeous beach. A private beach. Let’s do something… beach-y.”

“Have something in mind besides playing in the sand?” Derek peeked a look through one slightly opened eye at Stiles who glared at the patterns he created in sand feeling frustrated at his inability to think of anything. 

Then a light bulb switched on in Stiles's head. He jumped up in excitement. “Actually I can’t think of anything better!”

“Why do you sound happy about that?” Derek asked, confused as to why Stiles would be ecstatic for that.

“Look around, big guy,” spreading his arms wide. “Sand, sand, and more sand. And no one else around. Let’s build an epic freakin’ sand castle!”

“A sand castle… that’s your big idea?” Derek opened his eyes to cast an unimpressed stare at Stiles.

“No. An epic sand castle,” he enunciated. “C’mon, it’ll be fun and we don’t have to worry about anyone stepping on our work or running out of space. You and me!”

“There’s plenty of extra chairs. Just hang back here and try getting a tan. You're an adult now, at least pretend to be one.” Derek said dryly.

“Oh, you’re the only one pretending. You know you wanna.” Stiles grinned brightly down at Derek.

“No, I really don’t.”

“You’re coming with me, Derek, and we’re building a castle.” Stiles adamantly pulled on Derek’s wrist, holding on tightly with both hands and straining to move the werewolf. The werewolf put his sunglasses on with ease using his free hand hoping Stiles would receive the message that forcing the large man won’t work. When that doesn’t work, Derek realized the hyperactive young man won’t stop until he hurts himself. With one quick tug, Derek has Stiles's face kissing the beach's grainy floor.

“Sonuva!” Stiles exclaimed, shaking and sputtering the sand covering every inch of his face to Derek’s amusement. “Fine! Be that way. I’ll make my own master creation! The likes of which will stun and dazzle you!”

The young man stomped off with a pail, Derek had no idea came from, and went to the clear, blue ocean to collect some water to start working on his ‘master creation’.

“And don't forget to wear suntan lotion.” Derek calls out as he cracked open a book of his choosing. 

“And they call me the pack mom.” Stiles muttered on his way back to slather down his freckled, surprisingly lean muscular body - Derek failed to not notice. The werewolf was glad he had the sunglasses on to hide his appreciative gazing. He was only appreciatively looking because Derek was glad Stiles's training with the pack paid off… paid off so very well.

Even over the sounds of crashing waves, Derek could hear Stiles continue to fume at the werewolf for declining his offer. “Stupid Derek and his stupid books, stupid werewolf probably can't even read.” 

Derek wasn't one to enjoy when he’s being insulted but it surprisingly put a smile on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Several chapters into his book, Derek expected Stiles to be done by now. A glance over the book’s cover allowed him to see Stiles wasn’t building a simple sand castle. It’s a bit hard to tell what the structure is at this point but it was more elaborate than the werewolf gave Stiles credit for. 

Maybe Stiles’s claim of a master creation wasn’t too far off after all. Even Derek could admit when he was wrong and that maybe Stiles's plans weren’t completely immature… at least not as immature as Derek previously thought. At the end of the day, Stiles was still playing with a bucket of water and a bunch of sand. 

Just when the werewolf was about to admit defeat and join the sand architect, setting aside his book, a new presence decided to beat Derek before he could sit up from his chair.

A member of Cora’s pack, a year older than Stiles, knelt down beside the sand architect. The other guy sat a little too close, Derek thought unbiasedly. It was a mere observation, nothing more.

Derek heard the guy praising Stiles’s work and offering advice on the construction to which Stiles responded enthusiastically. 

Rocky, Derek remembered the guy’s name belatedly, joked about getting Stiles a hard hat to go with his impressive construction skills. Then adorned the empty pail on top of Stiles' head as a placeholder for a hard hat. Stiles busted out an amused squawk at the dumb joke and playfully pushed Rocky into the sand. Derek knew the other werewolf allowed himself to be pushed, making it worse somehow.

Derek grumpily grabbed his book and furiously tore it open back to where he left off, ignoring the hint of arousal carried by the soft breeze. Derek only hoped it wasn’t coming from Stiles. Not that he really cared one way or the other. It was just that Stiles should know better to flirt with a person from another country when it couldn't lead anywhere. It would be better if Stiles started something with someone, preferably a werewolf, in his own hometown who he saw on a regular basis, and knew about the supernatural, and maybe was even a pack member. Derek rolled his eyes as he knew the exact person who fit the bill.

*~*~*~*~*~*

After returning back to his book, Derek barely made it past a couple pages before giving up on trying to read when all his enhanced senses were squarely focused on Stiles and Rocky giggling and goofing off by the ocean. Derek's jaw clenched so tight that the werewolf became worried he would sustain permanent dental damage despite his healing factor. He told himself he was so annoyed because Rocky’s inclusion caused Stiles to lose focus on his so-called masterpiece. The idiot could never focus on anything. 

But Derek knew that was the furthest thing from the truth after the countless times he’s depended on Stiles for research. Nonetheless, he still decided to use it as the reason for his annoyance. And not because Stiles had forgotten about Derek and replaced him for another werewolf he hardly knew. Another werewolf who may be slightly taller than Derek. And can smile more easily than Derek. And doesn’t complain as much as Derek. And can actually participate well with others unlike Derek. Those were all irrelevant to the matter at hand. The matter being Stiles finishing his project. 

The final straw came when Rocky offered to reapply more suntan lotion on Stiles’s body, wanting to help get Stiles’s hard to reach spots. Derek appeared in a flash to grab the lotion out of Rocky’s hand, ignoring Stiles clutching at his chest from the shock. Derek said Stiles was fine and there was no need to waste lotion. 

“It never hurts to be safe, right?” Rocky countered and tried to take the lotion back. 

But Derek wasn’t giving it up. “Wanna bet?” 

Derek and Rocky were at a stalemate with neither relenting the bottle of lotion while Stiles stared upon them with a slack jaw, confused by the action.

Before the werewolves can apply too much pressure and explode the bottle, a volleyball innocently rolls toward the trio.

“So sorry! The ball must’ve gotten away from us!” Comes from a group of women jogging forth to reclaim their runaway ball.

Derek didn’t need to hear the stutter in her heartbeat to know they were lying. They would’ve had to hit the ball extremely hard for it to make it all the way to their secluded beach spot. And Derek was certain the women weren’t anything supernatural.

“You know, I could use a break. You ladies mind if we join a game?” Rocky smiled charmingly, finally letting go of the suntan lotion.

The women agreed happily to no one’s surprise.

“What’d you say, Derek? Wanna play or do you have a book to get back to?” Rocky challenged.

Stiles chuckled at the joke.

But Derek could hear what Rocky really meant behind his friendly tone and smile. He was challenging Derek. For Stiles. And Derek had only one answer for that.

Derek smiled and cocked a brow. “Let’s do it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

It didn’t take long for the hosts of the volleyball game to step aside to let Derek and Rocky duke it out on their court. Stiles also sat it out with women, even with his training alongside his werewolf buddies, he couldn’t keep up with their obviously private competition. He just wished he knew what the hell caused the pissing match between Derek and Rocky. He considered that it may have been a werewolf thing. But as grumpy as Derek could be, he was never territorial like this.

Stiles also wished he knew how that plastic beach ball withstood the pounding both werewolves were dishing out. He almost felt bad for the inanimate object.

A couple of the women talked amongst themselves as they watched the intense match. They whispered Stiles’s thought about what they were really playing for. While others voiced their appreciation for the eye candy as continued to leer Derek and Rocky’s muscled bodies with every jump, twist, and stretch.

Stiles could understand that sentiment. Even after all this time spent around Derek, Stiles still couldn’t help appreciate Derek’s defined body. And Rocky… it was like having another version of Derek who actually liked being around him -- and was taller. So yeah, two shirtless Derek-like dudes running and jumping in the sand with tanned skin that made them glow in the bright sun was very much appreciated.

As with their bodies being similar, unfortunately so were their skills too. Derek and Rocky were evenly matched and had been on the same point for what felt like a good half an hour. Stiles had to stop this before the women were shaken out of their lust to notice that no one should be to go that long without a trace of exhaustion or an ounce of sweat.

+++++++++++

Stiles stood close the volleyball net and clapped his hands. “Okay, fighters! Back to your corners! I think it’s time to give these very patient ladies their ball back.”

“After this point,” Derek promised with a high jump in the air to spike the incoming ball. When Derek landed, Stiles stifled the moan he wanted to release after seeing the werewolf’s pecs twitch like speakers pumping music with high bass. 

Stay on track.

“No way. It ends now.” Stiles demanded. A chorus of disappointed groans followed behind his back.

“There is no chance I’m stopping before he does.” Derek slammed the heavily abused ball back.

“Damn it…” Why did Stiles expect Derek to be cooperative? That only left… “Rocky, even though we've known each other for less than a day, I'm gonna make a judgement call and crown you as the levelheaded one and ask that you put a stop to this. Please.”

“Sorry, but you heard the man. He won't stop until I do and I can't lose. There's too much at stake.” Rocky responded ominously, springing to the side to nail a solid hit.

“I knew it!” Derek shouted like he had just won a point even though they were still bouncing back and forth without it coming close to the sand.

Rocky's statement seemed to send an already intense game into overdrive. Now these werewolves with all the discretion of a plaid pink colored giraffe were adding acrobatics into the equation. Somersaulting around like one of Stiles's over the top fighting games. If Derek and Rocky kept this up, Stiles was sure someone would yell out fatality before too long. Or a phone would come out to record the two werewolves for the entire YouTube-loving world to view.

“Okay, okay. Someone explain why this game - I stress the word game, not a ‘do or die’ battle to the end - why it's so important and what exactly is at stake?”

“He wants you, Stiles.” Derek managed to answer between a triple back handspring. 

When Rocky didn't try to deny it and kept the insane theatrics going with own hands-free cartwheel, Stiles simply uttered. “Oh. That's -- Oh.”

That was… surprising. But what was even more surprising was Derek apparently fighting for Stiles. For Stiles’s honor? Unless Stiles missed something in his extensive research on lycanthropy, he didn't need to worry about a random werewolf claiming him as their own and kidnapping him away to live the rest of his days like a sarcastic, mouthy Rapunzel in a beach house miles from home. That begs the question… 

“So what if he's interested in me. Why do you even care?”

“Go on and tell him, Derek. Or you could forfeit right now.” 

Stiles had never seen anyone chuckle while leaping ten feet in the air to spike a beach ball. He was so glad no one has their phones on them right now to capture this. Yet.

Whatever Derek needed to say or admit had some effect on his game. Derek became less finessed with his counters and struggled to match Rocky. There was an internal conflict waging inside Derek. And the werewolf couldn't battle both his brain and Rocky at the same time. He'd surely lose at this rate, only able to keep up with Rocky by the skin of his teeth.

 

“It's because -- it’s because I like you! Okay!” Derek burst out the pent-up confession. As soon as he did, the release freed Derek and allowed him to turn the tide with a game-winning strike that left Rocky diving face first into the sand.

 

“Wait a sec!” One of the women stomped over next to Stiles. “Both of you want him?”

“Yes!” Derek answered. Rocky was too busy sputtering sand out his mouth, but his answer would've been the same as Derek.

“I don't believe this… Give us our ball back, you… you teases!” The rest of the women didn’t quite share the sentiment if their pleading for another round was proof. But it was the end, they had overstayed their welcome.

***************

Stiles hadn't said anything on the way back to their beach spot. He silently returned to work on his sand structure, leaving Rocky and Derek to their own devices.

Rocky had seen some of his pack return with Erica and Boyd in the distance and walked away to join them.

Derek figured Rocky was honoring an unspoken agreement as the loser by giving Derek alone time with Stiles. Though, the faint smile on the other werewolf made Derek wonder exactly why he didn’t detect a hint of jealousy or sour disposition. But Derek couldn’t worry himself about that. A long kept secret had been revealed because of his pride to keep Stiles away from another werewolf. And he needed to know where he stood with Stiles.

So Derek decided to bite the bullet. Derek winced. Not the best saying to use with a werewolf - a werewolf with a history of being shot at. He decided to face the music. Better.

“Mind if I join?”

Stiles shrugged, intently focusing on his project.

Derek was uncomfortable. He sensed Stiles wasn't angry at him or uncomfortable around him. But the lack of talking meant Stiles wasn't okay. 

A non-talking Stiles was not good. It meant he didn't know how to say what was on his mind because Stiles always had something to say. And Derek confessing his feelings for him would no doubt leave Stiles with something to express.

He was probably looking for the best way to let down Derek easily to avoid any friction in the pack.

Derek braced himself for the inevitable. It's why he tried his best to shove his feelings for Stiles deep down. Which had worked fine until they exploded from a dumb game of volleyball.

But nothing came. Stiles continued to mold his creation.

It kind of reminded Derek of the weeks the two spent together at his loft compiling all their gathered supernatural info to an organized digital library. With Stiles's fingers typing away and Derek doing his best to assist Stiles any way he could. Confirming if what Stiles found was accurate. Making sure Stiles didn't pass out because he was too laser focused to remember to eat or rest.

“How can I help?” Derek asked, hoping to bring the same dynamic back. The goal was to make himself useful however Stiles wanted. And as he followed Stiles's instructions, briefly relishing the other's much missed voice, Derek quickly discovered he was really bad at building sand castles. Or whatever he was assisting in making because the werewolf had no clue.

It was round at first then one side had triangular edges. The surface had stiff, specific markings that gave it a machine like look. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie.

“Hey, big guy. I know this is a new concept for you but could you try to be gentle. Here, let me show you. I feel like Patrick Swayze right now.”

“What is this thing anyway?” Derek asked to distract himself from Stiles's long fingers casing his own and guiding them to pat the edges for perfect sharp corners. It didn't really work. Because now Stiles's voice wafted into Derek's ear, another method of blissful torture to go with the feel and scent of Stiles.

“Has anyone in this pack seen Star Wars?! When we get back to the beach house, you and I are gonna watch them. And then you'll find out what this beauty is.”

“It's a date,” sounding more like a question than Derek intended.

Stiles unsuccessfully tried to hide a fast ensuing smile. “Yeah, it's a date.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Happy with my birthday gift?”

“Very much. Thank you, Rocky. You did everything perfectly.”

“I wish you would've warned me about his temper, though. Your brother really put me through the ringer.”

“Sorry, I haven't seen my brother in a relationship since I was ten. We've been apart for so long, I'm still getting to know him again. But I know him enough to remember he never liked to share; then and now.”

“The guy is definitely gone on Stiles. That's bad too, I actually thought Stiles was cool to spend time with.”

“That's why I know he'll be great for my brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.  
> The whole Deaton sex talk was an idea borrowed from Mass Effect's Mordin Solus.  
> And do college games have jumbotrons? I know nothing about sports. Creative liberties!


End file.
